


I am not the only traveler

by Antisociallilbrat



Series: Song Fics [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by AHS, Kinda, M/M, Song Lyrics, major trigger warnings, this shit sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antisociallilbrat/pseuds/Antisociallilbrat
Summary: Song fic inspired by The night we met by Lord Huron.Bill loses Stan at young age and never moves on.I'm bad at summaries I promise it's good.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Series: Song Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786846
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	I am not the only traveler

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> Self harm and s*ic*de
> 
> Please be careful if you read lovelies
> 
> Kinda underage in some parts but kinds not? I wrote it and I'm confused. 
> 
> This fic was also inspired by AHS, where ghosts get to free roam the Earth on Halloween night

_I am not the only traveler_  
_Who has not repaid his debt_  
_I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again_  
_Take me back to the night we met_

At just fifteen years old, Bill Denbrough fell in love.

Being dragged to some stupid high school party is not his idea of fun, but if it makes Beverly and Mike happy, so be it. That didn’t mean he had to interact with any of the party goers. Bill was perfectly content to sit on the couch, sip on his alcoholic beverage, out of the way of everyone else.

His eyes flitted across the dance floor, people watching, the best form of entertainment really, when his gaze landed on him. Now Bill is a rational person, he doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but then why does his heart feel like it’s about to jump out of his chest? His mouth ran dry and palms were sweating, is this what love feels like?

He’s the most angelic person Bill has ever seen, swaying to the music with his eyes closed, appearing to be in his own little world. Golden curls reflecting the mood lights, delicate facial features displaying a small smile. He looked perfect and Bill’s hands itched to draw his beauty, or to run his fingertips over the expanse of his pale marbled like skin.

At first completely unaware of his actions, Bill was making his way over to this angel. The boy opened his eyes as he felt Bill draw near to him, greeting Bill with beautiful fields of emerald. The boy smiled as their eyes met and Bill’s heart was ready to explode. There was something almost otherworldly, something ethereal that surrounded them. Suffocating them, but not in the way that’s unpleasant. It was like being under warm weighted blanket on a brisk morning or being embraced from a loved one almost forgotten. From the shades of red that crept up on the boy’s cheeks, Bill knew that the boy felt the same intense emotion.

Before Bill even realized what, he’s saying, he’s trying to stutter out a hello, to ask him what’s his name, but all that came out is “H-h-h-h,” Bill’s speech failing him. He could feel himself growing hot with embarrassment and he was about to cut his losses and just walk away, when a soft hand reached out and grabbed a hold of his. Pure electricity shot through his body, radiating from where their skin met. He looked at their interlocked hands, back to the eyes of the boy.

He’s smiled brightly at him and any embarrassment he felt melted away. Miraculously a slow song came on among the dance music and the boy shot Bill a knowing look. It must have been fate is all Bill could think, because since when do slow songs play at high school parties? Wordlessly he guided Bill out to the dance floor, Bill helpless to follow, pretty sure he’d follow him anywhere. Bill is lead to a less crowded spot among the people, as the boy turned to put his arms around Bill’s neck.

Bill reached down to pull him against his chest, his face nuzzled into the side of the boy’s curls, swaying them back and forth. They fitted together exactly like a puzzle piece and Bill took in the smell of the boy. Fresh and clean like dried linen. Bill doesn’t think he’s ever loved that smell more.

The song was over too quickly, and Bill mourned the loss of electricity as he pulled back from him. He makes eye contact with Bill again, and Bill only had a moment to process before the boy pushed up to capture Bill’s lips in a kiss. Bill kissed him back with all his might, pure emotion that can only be described as love coursed through his body, lighting up like a live wire. His smooth lips moved across Bill’s chapped ones and all he could think about was that, kissing this boy felt like coming home.

The angel broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Bill’s, smiling as he spoke for the first time, “I’m Stan.” Bill was in love before Stan even knew his name.

_And then I can tell myself_  
_What the hell I’m supposed to do_  
_And then I can tell myself_  
_Not to ride along with you_

At seventeen years old, Bill realized that even angels stumble in the skies.

Stan and Bill were unapologetically and irrevocably in love with each other. Their friends were happy they found each, fearing them on their own to be lonely. While they were too scared to tell people outside their small group of found family of their relationship, that didn’t stop them from growing with one another. Delicate hand-holding under tables on their first few dates, to sneaking out at night to make out by the lake. Every time they kissed, Bill was filled with the overwhelming sense of coming home, of completeness.

Even when they would argue, as all couples do, they always came back together. Bill knew that his not so organized self could drive Stan crazy sometimes, but he also knew it was good for Stan. He caused Stan to accept that not all things were under his control, that sometimes inorganization was inevitable and it was okay. Just like when Stan would be bring Bill back down to Earth, him fighting Stan on the way down, he knew that that aspect was good for him. Stan kept Bill grounded, which he would begrudgingly admit was necessary for someone like him.

Stan would sit for hours and listen to Bill stutter over new story ideas he’d thought up, encouraging him to put the ideas to paper, never once telling Bill that an idea was stupid or garnish as his parents would. Stan never got annoyed when it would take Bill four tries to try and stutter out a sentence. He never tried to finish Bill’s sentences, something that even his closest friends were guilty of. Talking to Stan, for once in his life Bill felt like someone was actually listening to him, and not just waiting for him to shut up with his stutter. Stan was Bill’s angel even still.

Stan finally had someone to go bird watching with, someone who he never had to worry if they were bored or would make too much noise. Bill was always content to sketch while him and Stan sat on a blanket in their field. He’d listen intently as Stan would point birds out to him, telling him in excited whispers what about the bird fascinated him. Bill loved drawing Stan when he had this twinkle in his eyes as scanned the tree lines.

Portraits of Stan filled his sketchbooks, vein attempts in trying to capture his beauty on paper. He’d made countless attempts to capture his angelic essence with pencil, every time it was just never close enough. Stan would see the sketches and blush insisting to Bill that it was too much. The blush only made Bill want to draw Stan more.

With how closely Bill paid attention to Stan, he felt like he should’ve seen the signs earlier. It took him until the summer before their senior year to notice something was wrong. They had been out bird watching in the May heat, in their spot on a blanket in the field. The morning had started out brisk, so he thought nothing of it when Stan had showed up in a sweater, Bill had one on himself. Naturally the beginnings of summer heat crept up on them, and Bill was removing his sweater by the afternoon.

Looking over at Stan, he saw that sweat had broken across his forehead, but yet the sweater remained on. Concern had overtaken him immediately, Stan had an extreme aversion to sweating, hating the feeling and how it made him smell. Bill had insisted that Stan take sweater off, pointing out to him the sweat on his skin. When Stan had almost snapped at him and told him he was fine, that the sweat wasn’t a big deal, Bill had a sinking feeling that he knew was Stan was trying to hide from him. Bill became overwhelmed with the need to know if his suspicion was correct, that he almost ripped Stan’s sweater off in his haste, Stan fighting him the entire time.

He knew Stan was sad, Stan had fallen asleep crying in his arms enough times for him to know that. But surely Stan wasn’t sad enough to be taking it out on himself, right? When Bill finally ripped away the sweater, the angry red lines that littered Stan’s arms told him otherwise. The marks weren’t just contained to his wrists, they _covered_ his arms. Scars and new bright red ones intermingled on otherwise perfect skin. In his disbelief, with tears already weld up in his eyes, Bill could only look into Stan’s face, hoping that his face convened all answers to the questions that he would just stutter out if he tried to ask.

Upon making eye contact with Bill, Stan lost it. Bill had never heard some cry as hard Stan cried in the moment. Sobs racked through his body and all Bill could do was hug him close to his chest, hoping that if he held Stan tight enough, that he could squeeze the depression out of him. He held Stan for hours that day, letting his tears and snot soak into his shirt. When Bill finally managed to find some words, to get his mouth to corporate with his brain, he begged Stan to stop, to talk to him. Blearily Stan told Bill everything he wanted to hear, that he was okay, that he’d stop and come to Bill when dark thoughts invaded his brain. And like a stupid teenager, Bill believed him.

_I had all and then most of you_  
_Some and now none of you_  
_Take me back to the night we met_

At eighteen years old, Bill lost the love his life.

He doesn’t remember what exactly happened between the time he heard the news and the funeral. Stan’s mother called Bill’s, who wearily relayed to news the Bill. She was so sorry that he lost his _friend_. He stood in shock, the words his mother spoke replaying over and over in his head. He didn’t have to ask how Stan died, he knew, and it was his fault.

Finding use of his body once more, he bolted to Mikes. Adrenaline pumped through him, he completely forgot that he could drive, and just ran, bursting into Mike’s house. Mike saw Bill and could guess immediately that something was wrong. He kept trying to ask Bill was wrong, every time Bill tried to answer, his fucking mouth failing him. Mike couldn’t get it! He couldn’t read Bill like Stan could! Finally, he managed to yell that Stan was dead before he collapsed into Mike’s arms.

Now Bill was the one being held, being consoled. Bill’s chest ached , he felt Stan’s loss so deeply that it physically hurt him. Stan had left him! Stan had killed himself and he should’ve seen it coming! He knew Stan was fucking hurting and he didn’t help him! Any other day Bill would rationally dispel those thoughts that invaded his mind, he knew he was there for Stan to best of his abilities, but the loss of Stan told him he deserved demoness thoughts. He eventually passed out, awaking many hours later to a group of his crying friends that surrounded him on Mike’s bed. They didn’t try to speak to him as they all curled up next to him, and even being surrounded by five of his closest friends, Bill was as lonely as he’s ever been.

The funeral came and Bill was mad. Mad at Stan’s own parents and their church. Everyone attended the son of the Rabbi’s funeral, people who didn’t even care for Stan showed up, only there for the spectacle of the whole thing. The son of the Rabbi committing suicide? It was the talk of the town for a while. Stan’s mother was tearful, but it seemed she was mourned the loss of her good name than the loss of her son. Stan’s father seemed almost angry that Stan would dare kill himself, that he should’ve just toughened out, as if depression is just something that goes away if you act ‘man enough.’

Bill was mad at Stan for not even saying goodbye. Not a fucking note or anything. In his anger Bill had thrown out all of sketches and anything that reminded Bill of Stan. Everything was thrown in the trash in a moment of rage, except for two items that no matter how angry he felt, he couldn’t bring himself to part with.

One was the very first sketch that Bill had ever drawn of Stan. The night after the party they met, after Bill had gotten home, still giddy with excitement and youthful love, he sketched exactly how he had seen Stan that night. As an angel. When Stan saw the sketch months later, he giggled and told Bill that he had his head in the clouds. The second item was a necklace with a Bluejay pendent, a gift Stan had gotten him for their first and now only year anniversary. Bill had silent tears as the anger turned into bone crushing sadness as he put the two things he had left of Stan away into a little a wooden box, not to be opened for many years.

_I don’t know what I’m supposed to do_  
_Haunted by the ghost of you_  
_Oh, take me back to the night we met_

At twenty-three, Bill found happiness again.

Years passed and the intense pain he felt at Stan’s loss finally turned into a dull ache. The wooden box now sat up on a shelf in his closet of the apartment that he shared with his new wife, covered in small layer of dust. Never quite forgotten but pushed to the side to make room for the box full of wedding gifts.

Despite Bill being a college dropout, life had been kind to Bill considering. He had published his first horror novel at the bright age of twenty, a real feat. People fell in love with the main character, a pure soul with curly dirty blonde hair, who was haunted by demons inside of him that constantly tried to claw their way out. Richie had called Bill after reading the book, understandably worried for Bill. Bill was quick to reassure him that he was okay, explained that he simply was trying to understand Stan when he wrote the character.

That same book led him to meeting Audra, as the book was quickly bought up by a movie studio. They met as she auditioned for a role for the movie. Audra was kind and Bill would even say he loved her. She made Bill happy and at the end of the day he figured that was good enough. He would catch himself dully wondering if she’d be able to read Bill like Stan could, her never having to deal with Bill’s stutter, thanks to extensive speech therapy while he was still at college.

After only a year of dating, he asked her to marry him. The wedding was nice and as happy as he was, he never forgot Stan. His friends moved on with their lives, but he never let go of his angel. Bill was honest with Audra, telling her the story of Stan and Bill. She respectfully listened and even held Bill as he started to cry, him ripping the scars off his old wounds. Yes, Audra was good, and Bill found he could be happy with her. He never did show her the box.

_When the night was full of terrors_  
_And your eyes were filled with tears_  
_When you had not touched me yet_  
_Oh, take me back to the night we met_

At twenty-seven, Bill saw Stan for the first time once more.

It was Halloween night and for the first-time in a while, Bill found himself all alone this night. Which was perfectly okay, as Audra was visiting her family in London, taking their new baby girl Carrie with her. Carrie was only one, so it wasn’t like she was missing the holiday. Bill bought himself a nice bottle of wine and planned on staying in and writing all through the night. It was close to ten o’clock when a knock came at the door.

Confused because all the trick or treaters had finished two hours ago, Bill was hesitant to open the door, fearing it to be teenagers playing pranks. Bill could never be prepared for who faced him when he opened the door. It was Stan.

It was Stan who still looked seventeen, seeming to not age a day. He seemed to shimmer, as if he was barely there. Bill would’ve written it off as a trick of the moon light with the combination of the wine, but Stan smiled at him, and whispered out a “Hi Bluejay.” Bill stood there awestruck and unmoving; Stan reached out to touch Bill. He almost flinched away from Stan’s hand reaching out for his but allowed him to take his hand in his. His skin felt almost frozen against Bill’s, but it proved that somehow, Stan was standing in front of Bill. Realizing that he could touch Stan, he surged forward to kiss him.

He knew he should be asking questions. How was he here? Why? Did Bill die? He half expected to wake up in his bed the next day the moment his lips reached Stan’s. Pleasantly surprised when that didn’t happen, and Stan instead kissed him back. When Bill kissed Stan, even through the coldness that radiated from his lips, it still felt like coming home.

It felt like Bill was on autopilot as he pulled Stan inside, quickly ushering them to his and Audra’s bedroom. He didn’t think about any of his movements or what any of his actions meant as he and Stan undressed each other. When they made love for the first time right there on Bill’s bed, he didn’t think anything other than that Stan was there, that he could touch him and whisper apologies through his tears. Stan looked up at Bill and wiped away the tears that rolled down his face as Bill thrusted into him. They kissed each other’s expanses of skin, whispering I love yous and apologies into it. Bill paid extra attention to kissing the deep long scars that ran wrist to elbow on Stan’s arms.

Coming undone together, Bill got the chance to hold Stan in his arms like he did ten years ago. That’s when the questions started. Stan was vague but explained that he would’ve came to see Bill sooner, it’s just he was never alone Halloween nights. When Bill heard that he realized that every Halloween since Stan’s death, he always at a party or in recent years, with Audra.

Stan had his own things to tell Bill. About how he hated the character in Bill’s books, the one Bill had written as a poor imitation of Stan. Bill never wrote that character again. He told Bill that he thought Audra was good for him, that he was happy he found someone. He doted on Bill’s new daughter, saying that were he was, he would always watch out for her. He loved that she had Bill’s eyes.

The morning light started drifting through the window, and Stan insisted Bill go to sleep as eyes started to drop. Bill told him he didn’t want to miss a moment with Stan, only for Stan to tell Bill that he’d be back next year if Bill was alone. Before he drifted off to sleep, Bill swore to himself he’d always be alone Halloween nights if he got to see Stan.

_I had all and then most of you_  
_Some and now none of you_  
_Take me back to the night we met_

At thirty-five, Bill still chooses Stan.

Every Halloween since that night, Bill makes sure he’s alone. Always finding an excuse on why he can’t take his two kids trick or treating. Over the years, this caused many fights with Audra. She insisted that Bill for once needed to spend Halloween with Carrie and Stephen. Especially in later years when Bill started ‘traveling’ Halloween night, when in reality he was sneaking off to rent a motel room. He never has to worry about Stan finding him, he always knows where Bill is. Eventually Audra gave up that fight and moved on to fight with Bill about other things.

He wears the pendent that Stan gave him back when he was alive. The first year when Stan had saw it, he smiled so brightly that it almost made Bill forget the fact that he was looking at someone dead. Bill’s body grew worn with age, while Stan stays his virtuous looking seventeen-year-old self. Forever young. Never once though did he try to push Bill away when he kisses him, Stan still kissing back with the fervor he’s always had.

Bill doesn’t know how he gets along the rest of the year without Stan. It feels like he’s lost Stan all over again come November first, feeling the same empty cold ache he felt when had his heart broken the first time. He spends the rest of year waiting to see Stan, to see him and kiss him. To come home for just one night out of three hundred and sixty-five nights.

He feels himself growing more distant from Audra and his kids. Stephen hollers every time Bill tries to pick him up, so Bill doesn’t try anymore. Carrie asks Audra frequently “what’s wrong with daddy?” a question he’s overheard many times.

Bill has stopped writing, instead spending his time returning to drawing Stan. Audra tells Bill’s friends of this as a last-ditch effort to save their marriage, and Beverly calls him up. She tells him that it’s time to let Stan go, that it’s been almost twenty years, that they’re all worried about him. Bill promptly tells her off. She can’t say anything because they haven’t seen each other in years. The last time he saw any of them, it was Mike for Stephen’s baptism. They have no right to act concern for Bill’s well-being when they don’t bother to see him. She has no right to talk about Stan, she has no idea what Bill is going through, she got to marry the love her life. He doesn’t ever talk to his friends again.

_I don’t know what I’m supposed to do_  
_Haunted by the ghost of you_  
_Take me back to the night we met_

At thirty-nine, Bill joins Stan.

Audra has left Bill, taking the kids with her. He sends her money every month to help care for the kids, but he hasn’t seen any of them in four years. He knows it’s horrible, but he finds he doesn’t really miss them. He becomes lonely, but not for them. He becomes lonely because he’s only able to see his true love one night a year and spending the rest holed up in his home.

When he comes to his decision, he feels like it’s something he should’ve thought of years ago. Something he should’ve thought of when he first found out that Stan took his life. He decides to join Stan forever, there’s nothing now really holding him back from doing so. He decides to take his life on the anniversary of Stan’s suicide.

He takes a day to get everything figured out, writing out a will, leaving everything to his kids. He knows he was a pretty shitty father but knows the quite a bit of money he still has left over from his successful author days he’s leaving them is at least one thing he can do right by them. Leaving the apartment to Audra for her to do as she pleases. Besides that, Bill doesn’t have much left to his name.

That same day, he spends some of the day in the field, in his and Stan’s spot. For one year of Halloween, they met here, and made some of the sweetest love in the same place Bill discovered Stan was hurting himself. He lays a blanket out and enjoys the heat of the sun while he still can, knowing from Stan, that one of the downsides of dying is the unshakeable cold. He sketches Stan as he has done a million times, but this time he adds himself to the picture, something he’s never once done. He draws them when they’re old, after what he imagines them spending a long happy life together. It’s bittersweet looking at the picture. When he get’s up to leave, he leaves their blanket with drawing on top.

As the night settles in, Bill feasts on vodka and sleeping pills. Putting the pendent around his neck, he calmly crawls into bed to fall asleep for the last time. He feels a weight join him beside the bed as his eyes drop close, and he knows it’s Stan. His limbs feel heavy and aura of peace settles around him as he feels Stan press his hand to Bill’s heart.

Right before he loses consciousness, his mind takes him back to the night he first met Stan. In his memory the scene plays out exactly as he remembers it, his legs acting of their own volition carrying him to his angel. The only difference is that Stan greets him immediately when he walks over with a “I missed you Bluejay.” Stan doesn’t cold anymore when he kisses Bill.

**Author's Note:**

> I TRIED to show how loss could consume someone, especially if they get to see that person one day a year. Let me know what you think, thanks for reading !


End file.
